Fallout
by astrildniflheim
Summary: John gets news, Sherlock gets taken aback, and John wishes for the days when nothing ever happened to him. Slash. Also Romance and Humor, because no matter how bad things get, John and Sherlock always have humorous conversations.
1. Chapter 1 The Call

Fallout

by Astrild Niflheim

Rating: T Language and Adult Themes

Summary: John gets news, Sherlock gets taken aback, and John wishes for the days when nothing ever happened to him. Slash.

A/N: My sincerest apologies to anyone who was ever interested in the story I started, _Their Great Adventure_, because while it will get updated I don't know when. Two things are happening: 1)I'm sick. I keep telling my family I have the plague, but they keep calling me an alarmist and saying I have a cold. 2) I've become obsessed with writing John and Sherlock not together but in lurv stories. I keep thinking of different scenarios. I guess that's because I'm still a newbie!

Chapter One – The Call

The case was exciting. Holmes had been looking for such a case for **ages **and was thrilled to have finally found one. He and Watson had been dashing around London, following the trail of a musician/cat burglar. The police had been baffled as to how the man was getting into his victim's houses, but within the day Sherlock had figured it out. Within the week, he had proof. The arrest made, John had finally been able to make him eat, and now he was enjoying the high that only came directly after having solved a case.

He knew it wouldn't last long.

Sherlock was playing a fairly spirited piece on his violin when John's phone rang. How annoying. He hated when things interfered with anything he was doing. Didn't the universe realize that whatever he was doing was so much more important than any call John could possibly be getting, especially since that call was probably from the annoying woman he had been complaining about not seeing all week? Really.

"John," he called, not missing a beat. "Your phone is ringing."

John came padding into the main room on bare feet, a book in one hand, turning pages with the other.

"Where is my phone, anyway?" he asked, not looking up.

"Left jacket pocket."

"What? Oh, of course. Why do you have my phone?"

"Had to text Lestrade. Mine was in the microwave."

"Why? Never mind."

John gave up asking before his brain melted and, sighing, walked over to Sherlock and reached in the other man's left inner suit jacket pocket. Sherlock smirked.

"I meant the jacket I wore out. It's hanging on the peg."

"Sure that's what you meant," John shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm, as he made a hasty retreat. "You just enjoy making me do that, is all."

Sherlock shrugged and kept playing. He ignored John as the doctor sighed (he seemed to have a lot to sigh about, Sherlock noted) when he saw he had missed the call, and then retreated to his room to return said call. For awhile, Sherlock allowed himself to drift away and not pay much attention to anything. It was a rare treat for him to be able to partially shut down, but the violin helped him do so when his mind was satiated from solving a puzzle. Otherwise, the violin simply helped him focus his thoughts.

His playing came to a screeching halt some time later when John came out of his room, slamming the door, and practically stomping into the front room. He proceeded to pace up and down the living area, alternately running his hand through his hair and over his face.

"John? A bit of trouble?"

"Oh god, oh my god, oh god, Sherlock, oh dear god."

Right words, wrong tone of voice, Sherlock mused as he watched his friend pace and babble. The man was working himself up into a right panic and he hadn't even shared what the disturbing news was. Sherlock started imagining a dead sister, a burned down clinic, something that would explain the look of pure horror on John's face. He had to have the answer and he knew of only one way to talk a person out of such a state.

"Dr Watson! Get a hold of yourself and tell me the problem, quickly!"

"She's pregnant. Sherlock, Mary's fucking pregnant."

Sherlock gently put his violin down.

"We used protection," John was going on, not noticing how pale the detective had gone or how pinched his expression had grown. "But, well, I am a doctor, I know it's not one hundred percent. But pregnant? Oh my god. I'm going to be a father. What do I do? What else can I do. She's nice, smart, beautiful, we get along great. And now we're having a baby. I guess there really isn't a question, is there? I'm going to ask her to marry me."

He had looked up as he said the last, and his voice trailed off at the end of the sentence upon seeing Sherlock's face. The other man was as blank as if he'd been carved from marble, his skin just as white though earlier he had had a touch of pink in his cheeks from finally getting a decent meal. His eyes, though, they were ablaze. But only briefly. They started to cool and become blank as well. John knew what he was seeing and felt helpless to stop it. Sherlock was shutting down and shutting the people around him out. The worst part was he didn't usually shut John out, but this time, that was his target.

Sherlock was indeed employing his best protective mechanism, however, he knew he was failing. This was John. John always wormed his way into places he didn't belong. He had been invited into Sherlock's flat and work because he was interesting and found the detective brilliant, but he had plopped himself down into Sherlock's heart without so much as a 'by your leave.' And now, now he delivered what had to be the most devastating news Sherlock had heard in a long time, was making plans to **leave** and didn't even have the decency to allow Sherlock to shove his feelings about him aside. All it took was that concerned look and Sherlock was regretting letting the annoying man in front of him talk him into having lunch before they came home.

John was shocked when, without a word, Sherlock turned on his heel, stormed into the bathroom, slammed the door shut behind him, and promptly heaved the aforementioned lunch into the toilet.

John wasn't sure what reaction he had been expecting from his temperamental flatmate, but he was sure that wasn't it.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2 The Proposal

Chapter Two – The Proposal

"Sherlock, are you all right?"

John stood outside the bathroom door, listening to the sink run, feeling very concerned for his friend. He had to jump back out of the way when the door was ripped open and Sherlock stormed out.

"I'm fine. Clearly the curry was off."

"I had the same thing," John shook his head. "I think this news has upset you more than me. Far more."

Sherlock threw himself onto the couch and lay there, staring up at the ceiling.

"So, this is it, then?"

"What?"

"You're going to marry that, that, woman."

"Looks like. And she has a name. And, in case you haven't noticed, she actually likes you. Though I don't know why. You're very rude to her."

"Bah. I'm rude to everyone."

"True," John smiled. "I suppose that's why she doesn't take it personally. Things are not going to change, Sherlock. Well, they'll change a little. But you and me, we're always going to be best mates."

"Things are going to change dramatically. You're leaving."

With that, Sherlock rolled over to his side, turning his back to John.

"Right then. I'm going to call her back."

Sherlock stayed right where he was, listening to the faint sounds of John on the phone in his room. At one point, John's voice was raised, but then he started talking normally again. Sherlock couldn't hear the words, but he knew that things were not going the way John had expected them to. He was sure that John's proposal had been met with a resounding rejection. When John finally came out of his room, Sherlock didn't have to look at him to know that he had gotten dressed to leave for the day.

"Why are you bothering going over there? She's already told you no."

"Yeah, well, handling this over the phone wasn't the best idea. I'm going to talk to her face to face."

Sherlock sat up suddenly, studying his friend intensely.

"Don't."

"Sherlock..."

"Don't. You can be a father without getting married. **Nothing** would have to change. I don't want it to change, John."

"Please, Sherlock, you're making this so much harder than it has to be. I promise you, I **swear** to you, I won't let anything come between me and you. But... if I'm going to have a kid, I want that kid to grow up with both parents, together."

"Please. I grew up with both of my parents. Highly over rated."

"We're not discussing this."

"Why not? Don't I have some say in this? It does affect me."

"No! No, damn it, you don't get a say! It's my life, Sherlock! God, what is your problem? Do you enjoy making my life hell?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John, then flung himself back down on the couch, back into his original position.

"Hardly."

"Then what?"

"It doesn't matter. Not anymore."

"Sherlock? It matters to me. I'm sorry I yelled. Just tell me."

"Just go, John. Just go and change everything."

"Fine. We will talk when I get back."

Sherlock didn't reply to that. He simply laid there in silence, waiting until he heard John leave the flat. When he knew he was gone, he sat back up and stared at the closed door. He knew he was being difficult, he knew he should be supportive of John, but how could he? John was being taken away from him, before he could ever tell John that in reality, he belonged to Sherlock. He had hoped he would figure that out on his own, but it was simply too late.

TBC

A/N: Sorry so short! I'm still convinced it's the plague.


	3. Chapter 3 Shattered

A/N: Probably a little OOC on Sherlock's part, so I apologize for that. I tried to have him behave as he would, but not easy when we're talking about facing something he normally wouldn't. Hope you all like it anyhow :)

Chapter Three – Shattered

It was hours before John returned. Sherlock was still on the couch, facing the door. He was actually unaware of how much time had passed, but he realized that the room had dimmed considerably and when John turned lights on, they hurt his eyes.

He was surprised by John's face when he was finally able to see him. He looked tired, and sad. Sherlock didn't know what to say. John stood in front of him for a moment, just looking, before he finally spoke.

"Well, Sherlock, you're going to get your way, as usual."

His voice was quiet and resigned and that actually frightened the other man. He had never heard John so despondent before.

"What happened?" he asked, though for once, he didn't actually want to know.

"She is not ready for any of this. She intends to terminate the pregnancy. Honestly, I don't know why she even told me. What's really ironic is, I asked her the same thing you asked me. Don't I have a say in this? It affects me, too. You and I got the same answer – no. The only difference is, you got exactly what you wanted."

"No, John, that's not what I wanted."

"Then what?!" The sudden change in John's demeanour surprised the detective. He had gone from dejected to enraged in seconds. "You didn't want anything to change, Sherlock! Well, it's not going to! I thought I was going to be a father, but I'm not! I want to be a father! I know you don't understand that, but I wanted it, and now it's been ripped away from me."

During the tirade, tears had started falling from John's eyes, though Sherlock didn't think he realized it. The taller man had gotten up and crossed the room to him. Even while still yelling, Sherlock grasped him by his shoulders. He waited until John was done before speaking, making certain that the shorter man was looking him in the eye.

"I didn't want that, John," he pleaded, hoping he would hear what he was saying. "I told you you could be a father without being married. I didn't mind you having a baby, I just didn't want you to leave. This isn't what I wanted at all. I never meant for you to get hurt. Never."

"Why? Why was the thought of me getting married and moving out such a threat to you?"

"I told you! I don't want anything to change. I need you here, with me."

"You don't like people, you're difficult, you go days without eating, sleeping or talking! Why would you care if I were actually here so long I was a text away?"

"Because I love you!"

They both stopped and stared in shock at each other. Sherlock recovered first, dropping his hands from John's shoulders and taking a step back. His first thought was to close himself off, play what he said off as a platonic statement, but he quickly decided that he needed to let what he said stand. He probably just ruined his relationship with the doctor, but he couldn't let John go on, looking to create a family, without him knowing how he felt.

"You've completely changed my life," he continued, voice barely above a whisper. "You've changed me. And I love you. I hope you can forgive me."

John squeezed his eyes shut and just stood there for a moment, letting what he was hearing sink in. Sherlock was already resigned to what he felt was inevitable.

"You have nothing to apologize for," John finally said, opening his eyes. He sounded normal, but Sherlock couldn't read his expression. "Never ask for forgiveness for being in love. I assume that's the type of love you meant?"

Sherlock inclined his head in affirmation, keeping his expression neutral.

"Right. Um, don't take this the wrong way, but I can't handle this right now. I'm going to bed."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4 A Little Closer

Chapter Four – A Little Closer

John didn't speak to him the next day. Sherlock hadn't been to bed. He may have dozed for a couple of hours, but refreshed, he had begun working on the case files Lestrade had given him, contemplating the different poisons that would have caused the blotching around the victim's mouth.

His attention was diverted more than he would have liked when he heard John rise, shower, dress, and come into the kitchen to start tea and breakfast. John didn't say anything and Sherlock stayed bent over his microscope at the kitchen table, attempting to stay engrossed in his research. After awhile, John left the kitchen and Sherlock heard him as he packed up his laptop for the day and headed out.

When the door closed, Sherlock finally stopped pretending to be working and looked to his right, smiling a little. John had left him a cup of tea and a plate of toast. Maybe things would be fine.

000000000

When John came home that evening after a very long day at the clinic, he went straight to his room. Sherlock couldn't bring himself to pretend to work. He had actually solved one of the cases that Lestrade had given him, the one about the poison, but he wasn't really interested in the others right then. He just sat on the couch, knees drawn up to his chest, watching telly. He wasn't interested in that, either, but the noise was a distraction from listening to John moving around in his room. He was tired of analysing his friend. Honestly, he was bored, and if something didn't change he was going to start shooting.

When John came out of his room, sooner than Sherlock expected him to, the strain was clear on his face. Instead of going to the kitchen, or to his chair, however, he headed directly to the couch, forcefully pulled Sherlock's feet down to the floor, and planted himself right next to the other man.

"There's the whole couch left," Sherlock glared at him, not wanting to ask what he was doing.

"And I thought you said you loved me," John groused back, grabbing Sherlock's arm and putting it around his own shoulders before leaning over and,with his head on the taller man's shoulder, wrapped his arms around his middle.

"True, but to what do I owe this honour? Seeing as we have yet to deal with that?"

"I need to be held."

"You're confusing me."

"Good, you deserve it."

They were quiet for awhile, Sherlock slowly relaxing. Finally, he wrapped his other arm around John's shoulders as well and leaned his head onto his. He inhaled and sighed.

"I suppose I should say something."

"It would go a long way to helping me deal with what's happening right now."

"I've never wanted to be attracted to men."

"Are you?"

"Sometimes. You? Definitely. Always. Damn it. I know I feel very strongly for you, I just haven't let myself think about it too closely and the past couple of days have just been too traumatic to deal with it."

"Then don't," Sherlock whispered, squeezing him closer. "I'll be around here somewhere when you're ready. And I'll deal with whatever you figure out."

"I hope so. But I think this has brought us a little closer, don't you?"

"Yes," Sherlock smirked. "Do you think snogging would bring us even closer?"

"We are clearly not in the same place. So, no. What are we watching?"

"Crap."

TBC

A/N: Finished this chapter in a hurry and posted! So, hope it makes sense. Thanks to everyone following this story!


	5. Chapter 5 A Step in the Right Direction

Chapter Five – A Step in the Right Direction

Two more days went by and Sherlock was on edge, a very unusual situation for him. He was never on edge. He had a small range of emotions – he could be ecstatic, bored, intrigued, annoyed or sarcastic. Well, it did turn out he was also able to be completely and utterly smitten. With John. John, who had been giving him intermittent spikes of warmth and pleasure the past two days and Sherlock was waiting for each new thing the other man would do.

John would make him tea, as usual, but would hand him his cup and let his fingers linger over Sherlock's. He almost completely stopped using his own chair, sitting on the couch. If Sherlock was already there, he'd sit close enough for their thighs to touch and allow Sherlock to throw an arm around his shoulders. If Sherlock sat down after him, but not as close (which he only tried once just to see what would happen) John would scoot closer to him. John found reasons to brush past him throughout the day, casually brushing his hand, putting a hand on his shoulder, or, lately, at his waist. Sherlock made sure to find reasons to do the same to John.

"What are you doing now?"

Sherlock forced himself not to start. He was bending over his microscope and hadn't even realized John had come home much less had come into the kitchen. He had been very engrossed in some recent blood samples he had gotten from Molly. John, not realizing his entrance hadn't been noticed, had placed his hands on Sherlock's shoulders and leaned over him, as if to try and look into the eyepiece as well. Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment. John was pressed right against his back and his breath was ghosting over his ear.

"Blood samples with different toxins," he explained, turning to face his companion.

When John also turned to face him, Sherlock grinned and planted a kiss right on his mouth. It was quick and when Sherlock pulled back to see John looking startled, he laughed.

"Don't look at me like that," he chided. "You put yourself in that position."

"I..."

John could always surprise him. Always. So Sherlock was startled when he found himself being yanked away from the table, the chair he was in scrapping across the floor. Suddenly, John was in his lap, arms around his neck, kissing him deeply. He may have been surprised, but his reflexes were excellent. Sherlock immediately wrapped his long arms around John, pulling him close to his chest, and parted his lips to allow him access. At the first touch of tongue, Sherlock moaned and wove his fingers through the shorter man's hair, trying to pull him impossibly closer.

That's when his mobile went off, pinging a text alert.

Sherlock stiffened, but John didn't let go.

The phone went off again.

John clutched him tighter and started sucking on his bottom lip.

Once more, and Sherlock was reaching for his mobile on the table, trying to look at it while still kissing the man in his arms. After a moment, he forced John to release his mouth, and, breathing hard, showed John the phone.

"Murder."

"Bugger!"

John, slightly pissed off and very red in the face (and the mouth), jumped off of Sherlock's lap and ran to grab his jacket.

"Is that where we were going with all that, then?" Sherlock asked, a smirk planted firmly on his lips, as he grabbed his own coat.

"No!" John yelled, already halfway down the stairs.

TBC

A/N: Ok, another short one, and nothing but fluff. Sorry for nothing but fluff! However, we'll have some adventure and stuff in the next installment! Oh, and I'm much better now, and, more importantly, my husband his paying for thinking I was over reacting to having the plague, cause he has it now! Ha! Wait, not ha, I have take care of him. Well, until next time! ::kisses::


	6. Chapter 6 Crazed Killer

A/N: We're starting to get closer to why I decided to rate this M. There's a bit of a beat down in this chapter, though not graphic. Thought I'd warn, though.

Chapter Six – Crazed Killer

"It's the second murder just like this."

"Yes, I know. Seems we have a serial killer. Oh, those are truly fun."

Lestrade just shrugged at Sherlock's inappropriate glee. He was used to it. He stood off to the side in the alley way with John, watching as Sherlock circled the body, inspecting every square inch in that way he had. After a few minutes, he looked up at John with a wide grin.

"Fancy a pint?"

"Um, sure," John smiled. "For the case?"

"Nooo," Sherlock drawled. "The pints are for us. Though I suppose a person who will be showing up in the pub is part of the case."

"Alright then."

With that, Sherlock took John by the elbow and led him off, out of the alley. Lestrade was used to that, too. What he wasn't really used to was seeing Sherlock's hand trail down John's arm, releasing his grip of his elbow to grasp his hand, instead.

000000000000

"Aren't you having one?"

Sherlock just shot John a disdainful look. As if the man didn't know any better.

"Oh, right, nothing while on a case, and certainly not a beer," John took a drink of his, feeling a bit awkward on what actually felt almost like a date. "So. What are we looking for?"

"Man in a ragged blue jumper. I'm only speculating on the level of wear based on fibres from the same jumper being at both scenes. He wears it most of the time, there must be some attachment there, and he's in the habit of snagging it. Ah, there he is."

John looked up at the man who had just entered the pub. He was fairly nondescript, but that was not unexpected. Most killers looked like your average citizen. He jumped a little and looked over at Sherlock as he felt the other man put an arm around his shoulders. The detective grinned and leaned in to whisper into his ear.

"Smile, John, I'm supposed to be saying something you like. Ah, good, a little redness around the ears is perfect. Just go along with me. Both men killed were homosexual. They were beaten savagely – no, don't let the information I'm giving you show on your face. I love you, you know. Better. He's noticed us, and you smiling is exactly what I want him to see. Both men had been drinking before they died, not much, but they had been in a pub somewhere in this area and this is the closest one to both crime scenes. Now, I'm going to leave. You stay right here. Give me five minutes to let him corner me. Don't look at me like that, you know I can take care of myself. Five minutes, John. Then text Lestrade and bring yourself and your pistol to the alleyway behind the pub. Now, one last thing to make sure he follows me out."

Sherlock pulled back and, smiling warmly at John, cupped his face and gave him a lingering kiss. When they broke apart, John was breathless and Sherlock was heading out the door, coat swirling behind him. John watched in apprehension as the man in the blue jumper followed the other man out.

000000000000

"Sherlock, you idiot!"

"I really don't see how this is the time for name calling."

"With you, it's always the time for name calling. Now, be still. The ambulance is coming."

Sherlock lay on the cold, hard ground of the alley, his head in John's lap. The smaller man had followed his instructions exactly. Thank goodness, or the detective would assuredly be dead. He mused that he should have not underestimated the killer's speed or fury – he should have told John three minutes. Now, Sherlock had a bloody nose, a split lip, a swelling eye and what he was fairly sure was a broken arm. He wasn't sure if the three ribs on his right side were bruised or cracked. Either way, it was torture just breathing. He wasn't going to tell John that.

As it was, John was clearly beside himself. He had come into the alley just in time to see the murderer pull out a pistol of his own and aim it at Sherlock. The dark haired detective had clearly put up a much bigger fight than the other victims – he **knew** he had broken his arm – so he was going to end it before Sherlock could do him any more damage. John had shot the man dead without hesitation.

Now, John was sitting in the alley, waiting for the ambulance that would take Sherlock to hospital, cursing the other man's foolhardiness, but not looking down at him. After a moment, Sherlock realized there were unshed tears in the doctor's eyes. He reached up and touched his cheek, making him look down.

"None of that," he ordered, but just barely above a whisper. "I'm fine."

"And you have no idea how close you came to not being fine."

"Yes, I do. But you were there."

"Shut up, Sherlock. You're an ass."

Sherlock smirked, but did as he was told.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7 A Moment

Chapter Seven – A Moment

Sherlock was laid out on the couch.

"Bored."

He had only muttered it, but as John was walking into the room, he heard him loud and clear.

"Two cracked ribs, one bruised, broken arm. You're not doing anything for awhile, so get used to it."

Sherlock scowled at the other man as he sat in his usual chair, flicking out the newspaper and settling in to read.

"Why are you over there?"

John folded the paper down and raised an eyebrow at his flatmate.

"You're injured," he said slowly. "You're laying on the couch. If I sit with you, you'll have to change position. I don't want you uncomfortable."

"But it's alright if I'm bored?"

John rolled his eyes, got up, and sat on the floor next to Sherlock, his back against the couch. Sherlock draped an arm around him.

"Better?"

"Still bored."

John chuckled.

"Would you like me to read to you?"

"God no."

They were silent then, but only for a short time. Sherlock was incapable of stilling his thoughts and he was often incapable of not speaking them aloud. So, very quietly, he asked John what was on his mind.

"Are we together, John?"

John went very still, and then sighed.

"I suppose it's time to deal now."

"I think it may be past time," Sherlock chuckled, wincing at the pain in his ribs. "I just need to know, can I consider you mine? I already do, by the way, but I suppose you have a say in whether you think you belong to me or not."

John outright laughed and turned his body to face Sherlock without dislodging the other man's arm from around him.

"I realized long ago you thought I belonged to you, even before I found out how you felt. You're very possessive, you know."

"Yes, glad you see it. So, can I openly dissuade potential suitors? Make it clear that you are spoken for?"

"Good lord, Sherlock. Yeah, I guess you can. So long as one of the ways you 'mark your territory' isn't to piss on me."

"Bah, nasty business, that," Sherlock shook his head, wrinkling up his nose. "Unsanitary."

John huffed out a laugh and kissed the man on the couch. When he pulled back, he pressed his forehead to Sherlock's and they shared a warm smile. Then, doing his best to hide the pain it caused, Sherlock shifted onto his side and pressed himself to the back of the couch.

"Lay next to me?" he asked, almost shyly.

John thought to protest that it would be too painful for him, but decided that the detective might be better for the close contact. Gingerly, he crawled up onto the couch and draped his arm over the other man's shoulders and began pressing kisses to his face. Smiling, Sherlock ran his hand over John's side. When John finally kissed him properly on the mouth, running his tongue over Sherlock's bottom lip to gain entry, the dark haired man allowed his hand to pass firmly over the doctor's backside and squeeze. He was encouraged when John moaned and deepened the kiss instead of pulling back. After awhile, they pulled back, both breathless, but Sherlock didn't let go.

"I desperately want to make love to you," he whispered, taking in John's flushed cheeks, wet mouth and eyes so dilated they were almost black.

"That would be awful on your ribs," John finally managed to reply.

"That wasn't a no."

"No, that wasn't."

"Damn my ribs. I want you."

"Fine, give it your best shot, but it's going to hurt."

Kissing him with a hunger he was certain he had never felt before, Sherlock rolled and shifted them until John was pinned beneath him on the couch, panting in arousal. Sherlock, on the other hand, lost all sense of the fire he had been feeling and nearly passed out from the pain his efforts had caused.

"Damn, my ribs," he moaned weakly, burying his face in John's neck as the smaller man ran his hands soothingly over his back.

"Let's just wait a bit for this, yeah?"

"Damn it!"

TBC

A/N: Sorry it took so long to get this sucker up! And it's short, to boot, so sorry about that as well. I've started working twelve days in a row and then getting a weekend off. It's really not a big deal, but I have to get adjusted to it lol.

Anyhow, who agrees with poor Sherlock? Damn it, indeed :).


End file.
